"Man, I'm out of shape," Mac wheezed as he dragged another body to the truck bed.

"I could have told you that," said the doorman, who had introduced himself as José earlier.

Mac shot him a glare and José smirked in response. "Oh that's hilarious, Mr. Hair Gel." His grin fell away to a growl. I had a feeling they bantered like this often.

Tim had us out here pretty much as soon as the sky was lit up. When we started there were puddles of rain water everywhere and now with the high noon sun beating down on us, the puddles had evaporated. I was starting to sweat from the heat and effort, my elbow groaning like an unoiled hinge. It was kind of worrying; I was a little too young to have joint problems.

All the able bodies had been conscripted into corpse duty, minus the kids of course. A lady as old as sixty was out here with us, making me feel a little bad about complaining. She hadn't made one grouchy remark all day.

Tim shared the bare minimum with us, saying that we would round up all the bodies and dump them in the primary school's soccer field. Then use as little gasoline as possible to create a controlled burn. I was not looking forward to that last part. I was already imaging how awful the smell of burnt flesh was going to be.

After the last visible body had been thrown into the back of the Avalanche and other red truck, Tim made his announcement.

"Thank you everyone for your cleanup efforts. Please go rest and get something to eat. Roy, Karla, Bailey and I will take it from here."

I frowned when he included me in his plans, for all he knew I was planning to leave right after this. Roy looked over at me, appreciation on his face. He must have thought I volunteered. By the time we were done, it would be too late to leave again. This stalling was becoming insidious. One day we would look back and realize we had been here for months.

I got in one of the trucks with Roy at the wheel and we took off after Tim in the larger truck.

"You guys do this often?" I asked as I massaged my elbow.

"Usually its groups of five or so, never this many," Roy looked over at me. "We can get you a Tensor bandage for your elbow when we get back."

"Thanks."

"Did you injure your elbow falling down the stairs too?" Roy smirked.

"Fence this time."

"Sure, sure," Roy said airily. "You sure are clumsy."

I had never noticed how predisposed to injury I was until Roy pointed it out.

"I'm not clumsy, I'm-," I thought about it. "Accident-prone."

Roy grunted in response. I was about to argue my point further when the school appeared in our sightlines. We followed the larger truck over the curb and further into the backyard of the school. The grass was worn with tire tracks and a burnt smell, like meat that fell into the barbeque flames, hung in the air. The truck stopped in front of the soccer field, except now it had been transformed into an outdoor crematorium. Various mounds of burnt bodies sat in the center, ash coating the rest of the field.

I hadn't realized how long I had been staring until Roy patted my shoulder, "Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave this place."

I got out of the truck and the smell grew tenfold. Roy handed me a bandana to cover my face so I tied it to sit on the bridge of my nose. It helped to reduce the smell by a little bit. First, Tim had found some pallets to place the bodies on so they burnt better and then we got to work dragging the bodies into their own new pile.

One of the infected's arms that Karla was pulling ripped from its decayed socket, muscles dangling like raw meat. She gagged as she picked up the severed arm and threw in onto the pile with its owner.

A middle aged infected that I was lugging, lost his wallet in the process so I went back to retrieve the item. I flipped open the generic brown leather wallet to see the smiling faces of a young family. The license said that this man was once Robin Cruthers, age 34. Carefully, I placed the wallet in the corpse's hands, making sure it didn't slip out. Various other articles from infected had to be gathered from our hauling efforts and tossed onto the mass grave.

I could hear the gasoline sloshing around in the canister as Tim approached the pyre. He poured a fair amount under the base that the pallets had created and sprinkled the rest on the top of the pile. The match came to life and he carefully placed it at the bottom where he had poured the most gas. Flames roared and we had to take a step back from the intensity. Soon the fire started to spread, like trails on a map and the smell couldn't even be covered by the rag anymore. I had turn away or risk throwing up my breakfast.

"Go wait in the car, we just got to make sure this catches fire all over, and then we can leave," Tim nodded towards the parked vehicles.

I didn't have to be told twice as I walked briskly to the truck. The smell wasn't as strong in the vehicle cabin, but I'm sure the smoke would eventually drift over here. It wasn't even the stench of burning meat; it was the disgusting odor of burnt, rotting meat. Roy joined me.

"The first time we did this, I threw up," he admitted. "You're doing better than I did."

"It's the smell that gets me," I said back, trying to talk and breathe out of my mouth at the same time.

"The first time I had to load a little girl's body into the pile. She reminded me of my youngest daughter," he swallowed thickly. "It was hard."

I was curious about the story behind what happened to his other daughter and wife, but I knew that this wasn't the time to ask. His voice was rough and he was looking away from me out the driver's window. This was the first time he mentioned his other daughter.

Tim waved at us, the pyre casting dark clouds of smoke into the air. He left the field and we followed. After a few minutes it became apparent he wasn't heading back to the apartment.

"Where's he going?" Roy squinted out the windshield.

Tim led us to what appeared to be a golf range. The grass was badly overgrown and unkempt; the large netting was ripped and torn, pieces billowing in the light breeze. Realization lit up Roy's face.

"Looks like you're getting some automatic weapons training."

I had figured. Tim was very pushy in a non-direct way. I hadn't agreed to this either, yet here we were. He's was very passive-aggressive and I found I really didn't like that trait. The parking lot was empty and we stopped right in front of the club house doors.

We reconvened at the Avalanche. I could still see the tip of the smoke clouds in the distance. I had to wonder how far it could be seen and if it would bring in people. Tim was busy pulling out weapons and a large duffle. He handed me a black, large rifle. Surprisingly it weighed less than I thought it would.

"This is an AR-15, this is what you will be using," Tim said in a very no-nonsense voice.

"Will I?" I raised an eyebrow.

He schooled his features, but not before I saw a brief flash of surprise.

"Being trained to use a weapon is a good thing, people used to jump at the chance to be trained by me," he stated his case. "Especially now."

Well, when he put it like that, I felt like an ungrateful teenager snubbing their parent's advice. I just didn't appreciate that I wasn't consulted on whether or not I would like to participate.

"Fine, lead the way," I motioned for him to continue.

The small golfing range had been made into a shooting range. Targets had been nailed onto stakes that had been driven into the ground at different distances. I noticed the distinct lack of bullet holes in the targets. The shell casings were littered all over the area where we shot from and I could feel them rolling under my shoe. No one thought to rake them up. Karla and Roy stood further back observing. Having an audience wasn't going to instill confidence. Tim set down his large sack and took the rifle from me.

"As I was saying, this is an automatic model of the AR-15, which is a military grade weapon. You will have to fight the urge to hold down the trigger because spray and pray will get you nowhere but stranded in the middle of a horde with an empty magazine. Short, controlled bursts are what you want to do. This magazine holds thirty rounds," Tim jammed the black piece into the gun for emphasis. "Some hold more, but the more it holds, the higher the risk for jamming. There are adjustable front and rear iron sights for personalized use." More pointing to the gun. "This model uses two-twenty-three Remington's, but can also use five-fifty-six caliber rounds."

At that my eyes started to glaze over and I wondered what Mac would be concocting for us tonight. Tim must have sensed this.

"Before I hand you this, I want to see what you can do with that handgun of yours."

He was testing me. Nothing like pressure to make your aim better. I took out the handgun and flicked off the safety. I aimed for a middle distance target, taking a deep breath. If I was going to show off, I needed to make sure I hit it. With two shots, I hit the middle-right area of the target I was aiming for. I turned to Tim, his face saying nothing; the only movement from him was the rubbing of his thumb along his jawline. It was unnerving.

"Who taught you how to shoot?"

"One of my friends, John. He was in the military."

He handed me the AR-15 and I guess I must have passed his entry level test. The gun was slightly heavier now that he had loaded the magazine into it. He showed me how to move the sights so it worked better for me. They were kind of similar to the ones on the handgun; only these were able to be adjusted. I propped it up and against my shoulder. It was like I was holding my old hunting rifle again, except more dangerous.

I found myself nervous holding the weapon. It could do so much damage with just one trigger pull. I swallowed and calmed my heart rate. I squeezed the trigger lightly and the gun kickback made me jerk backwards, the gun muzzle lifting into the air. The bullets flew into the sky, far from my targets. The gun settled back down and I took my finger from the trigger and turned to Tim.

"I don't think I like these."

"Don't feel too bad, you should have seen Roy when he first started. Try again."

And so it went until I was finally able to control the kickback and not ruin my aim. The metal tinging sound of bullets hitting the metal sign targets started to sound. I had to reload the magazine a couple of times from the amount of bullets I was using. And my arm was beginning to get sore from the weight and kickback of the unfamiliar weapon. I had to set it down and stretch it out, my elbow acting up again.

"You learn quickly," Tim nodded.

"Only because I've been taught this before," I admitted. "Well, for a handgun anyways."

"Sick ones!" Karla yelled out.

We looked around us and indeed infected had started to congregate. Some were heading right for the shredded netting and others were beginning to stumble into the parking lot. Considering we were not in a big city, this place sure had a lot of infected. Maybe having so many survivors in one place drew them in like moths to lamp post.

"Time to put your new skills to the test," Tim said quickly as he pulled out another automatic rifle from the duffle bag.

I hefted the weapon back up as Roy and Karla ran to us, pulling out their own weapons.

"We need to clear the parking lot first," Tim ordered as he pulled the bag over his shoulder.

For such a skinny guy, he could carry a lot while still having perfect aim. He let out a burst and the two reaching for the truck dropped. The rest were well into the distance, we would have seen them had they got any closer. One was trying unsuccessfully to get through the overgrown bushes and Tim jerked his head towards that one.

Well, I guess that one was mine. I aimed for the torso, not trusting myself to hit its head from here. The gun jerked and the infected flopped down face first into the bushes. Thick, discolored blood ran down the green foliage leaving a greasy trail behind. I hadn't meant to hit the thing in the head, but that's what I did. Good thing I aimed lower because the kickback was still forcing the gun up slightly.

"Wish I had learned that quickly," Roy sounded impressed.

"That makes two of us," Tim said, not trying to be funny. Roy shot him an offended look.

We ran to the trucks, wasting no time as we jumped in and peeled out of the parking lot that was now becoming an infected meet and greet.